Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream
by Remus's Nymph
Summary: It takes seven days to stop dreaming. RemusHermione.


**Title:** Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** It takes seven days to stop dreaming. Remus/Hermione.

**Author notes:** Thank you to Candy for the beta job. Thank you to all of those that suggested "Superman" in the Theme Song thread.

**Disclaimer:** The title comes from the song "Superman" by Five for Fighting.

**Time setting:** Post-Hogwarts, but no real spoilers.

-!-

On the first night, she dreams of being home. The clock chimes nine, and she looks out into the dark, waiting. She makes sure the food she has cooked is still warm, there are dry clothes waiting by the door, and cups and saucers have been brought out for tea. She begins to knit, blending colours, to make the ideal scarf and woolly hat for his Christmas. When the clock strikes the half hour, she looks out of the window, but she is not worried. She puts away most of the food, leaving only a plate to keep warm, knowing he won't be very hungry by now. She keeps knitting, hoping he isn't feeling cold.

On the second night, she dreams she's by the lake in Hogwarts. It's a warm day, a quarter past noon, and the Giant Squid is causing ripples in the water. She opens her picnic basket and pulls out an assortment of foods, checking her watch once. Chicken, baked potatoes, a healthy salad of tomatoes, lettuce, carrots and Mrs Weasley's Not-So-Secret Sauce. She stretches out, feeling the grass tickle her skin and the sun warming her. She watches as the Giant Squid lets out a yawn, heading under the waters. She checks her watch again. It's almost one o'clock, but she's not worried. She pulls out a book and begins to read.

On the third night, she dreams of being in the Burrow. Most of the Weasleys have gathered for brunch, helping themselves to a home-cooked meal, trying to catch up on the latest news because work has been too much, family has been too much, the war has been too much. She helps set the table, glancing at the family clock. Everybody is safe at home, except Charlie who is in Rumania and Percy who is at work. She checks her own watch and sees that it's eleven in the morning. Somebody asks her where he is, and she answers that he is on his way. Mrs Weasley brings out a pie and Ginny has made lovely looking sandwiches. They sit down to eat, and he hasn't arrived. She doesn't worry.

On the fourth night, she dreams she is back at home. She's in the garden, tending to his flowers, waiting for him to come home from work. The wireless is playing, and she wipes the sweat from her brow. Somewhere within the house the clock chimes four o'clock. She looks over the garden fence, the view to the road, and holds her breath. Nothing happens. She continues plucking the weeds. When the clock strikes five a baby begins to cry inside the house. She gets up, wipes off the dirt from her trousers, and goes inside the house. A quarter past five, the baby asleep again, she looks out the window. She doesn't worry.

On the fifth night, she dreams of being in the Ministry. She doesn't work there, but she's sitting in a chair, waiting. She received an owl to arrive promptly, and she obeys. She checks her watch; it's almost five in the afternoon. She glances around, looking at the posters hung up on the walls. Wanted, Missing, Have you seen, Reward, Help. Ministry officials run up and down, ignoring her, probably not caring. Every so often one notices her and whispers to his co-worker. Finally a man in a sombre-looking robe comes to meet her. He is standing, and she is sitting down. He gives her some news, and she is not worried. But she cries.

On the sixth night, she dreams she's in a large field. Wild flowers move with the wind and the glass seems to glow. The sun is there, but it's not hot, and she's wearing a yellow-coloured dress. She's just standing there, in the middle of everything, waiting. She does not think, she does not wonder, she just waits. Eventually, time forgotten, she spots an animal crossing the field. She is not afraid as she watches it come closer, its fur glistening in the sun, slightly ruffled from the breeze, eyes glowing. As it stops before her, she briefly thinks about the tales of little red riding hood, and she smiles. She kneels, staring it straight in the eye, stroking its fur, whispering charms of good luck that don't work. Then the wolf lies down on the grass, closing its eyes. She cries.

On the seventh night, she doesn't dream, because it's been seven days since his death and she is no longer in denial. She no longer hopes. Now she worries.


End file.
